


A Healing Touch/New Experiences

by mattzerella_sticks



Series: Season 15 Inspired [27]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Parent John Winchester, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Coda, Concerned Castiel, Concerned Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Episode: s15e17 Unity, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, F/M, Growing Old Together, Healing, Hope vs. Despair, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Massage, Mortality, Naked Dean Winchester, Personal Growth, Post-Finale, Post-Season/Series 15, Scared Dean Winchester, Therapy, Traumatized Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27296494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: Maybe if Cas hadn't abandoned him, he wouldn't have agreed to Adam's offer. But with free will finally theirs, Cas made his choice, and Dean his. Now he has to live with the consequences - even if they are awkward. He won't die from it, certainly.It's only a massage.But what Dean doesn't know, is that it's more than a massage. It's healing.
Relationships: Adam/Serafina, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Season 15 Inspired [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517543
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	1. A Healing Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Fic number 200!!! 
> 
> When I published my last fic, I realized that my next one would be the 200th I published (not accounting for if I decide to go back and delete some abandoned works, but I am not a believer in that). And when looking at the codas I had planned after the last episode 'Unity' I was so glad to see this was next on my docket 😁
> 
> This turned out much different than I was expecting lol. I promised fluff and here I am putting ANGST in the tags. But I promise it's all good angst!! Read, and see for yourself!

Dean’s grip tensed on the towel, pulling its fabric closer against his waist. Terrycloth rubbing his crotch like sandpaper, making him even more aware of his current state of undress than he already was.

Damn Adam, for talking him into this. The placid cadence of the First Man wreaked havoc with Dean’s judgement. Lulled him into a false sense of security. Now that his armor’s been cast off, Dean realizes how terrible an idea this really is. Briefly, Dean considers turning tail and jumping back into his outfit. Pretend this never happened. Play dumb. But then Adam emerges, parting the beaded curtains and motioning him towards a table set up in the middle of the room. Dean trudges along, window of opportunity slammed on his fingers.

“Relax Dean,” Adam croons, lighting one of the many candles that surrounds the room. Interspersed with crystals, totems, and an incense stick that suspiciously smells like a VW van at a concert. “This is going to be a _transcendent_ experience.”

“If you say so…” He sits, kicking his feet. Hunched over, spine protesting from the angle. Ignores twinging pain with practiced ease.

Doesn’t matter how well he masks it in the other man’s presence; Adam arches a brow at Dean and orders him to lay down. “You’ll feel better that way.”

He stills, clutching at the towel with both hands. Frozen with an unnamed emotion Dean swears isn’t fear. Staring with wide eyes at Adam while the other man waits. Finally, he breaks the silence, “Can’t you just… do my shoulders?”

“I will,” Adam promises, drifting closer, “Along with your sides… your back… anywhere I believe you might need.” He brushes featherlight fingers across his chin, a scant distance from actually touching it. Lips stretched in a lazy smile. “If it’ll make you more comfortable, though, I’ll look away while you get settled.”

Dean clears his throat, gaze darting away. “You will?”

“While I don’t agree with your shame,” he says, pulling back, “I understand it. How it _works_. So, when you’re ready to start, let me know.” Adam spins on his heel, grabbing for tinctures and potions on a nearby counter. Mixes them. Feigns busyness while Dean readies himself.

He slides off the table, glancing from Adam to the exit. Wonders if he can sprint fast enough, snatch his clothes, and jump into his Baby. Put Santa Fe in his rearview, even if it meant leaving Cas. Finding a new path home would serve him right, abandoning Dean immediately for Serafina. Former and current angel leaving for lunch, catching up after millennia apart. Dean stuck with Adam. Biding time, making awkward small talk; listening as he rambled on about differing memories patchworked together while he played hopscotch through his timeline. So bored and confused he didn’t realize what Adam offered until he locked the bathroom door behind Dean, instructions rattling around in his head. Towel in his arms instead of around his waist.

“Dean,” Adam chimes in, laughing, “I’m almost done.”

Thinking, not acting, wasted too much time. No other options left Dean unfastened his towel. Held it while he climbed onto the table, carefully lying down. Adjusting his junk so his weight wouldn’t crush it. Then, face pressed into the appropriate hole, Dean fixed the towel. End hanging off the edges, censored his freckled ass from view. “Okay,” he says, croaking the next few words out. “I’m all set.”

“Perfect.”

Dean nearly asks when Adam will start. As soon as the question forms in his throat, he swallows it. Adam’s wet, _warm_ touch sliding over his back. Spreads a slick substance that makes his skin goosepimple when the air meets it. Elicits a sudden, breathy response from Dean. “Sorry,” Adam apologizes, continuing his ministrations, “probably should’ve warned you?”

“Would’ve been nice…”

“Well, we can’t go back, now can we?” He kneads Dean’s shoulders, loosening a tight muscle with his thumb. “Let me do all the work…” Adam speaks aloud, calling on a nearby smart device. Tells it to play a certain playlist, whining strums pouring from his speakers. Dean rolls his eyes. The added hippie music only pours salt in the wound. “You’ve got a lot of knots, Dean.”

“I’m not surprised,” Dean says, “the stuff I do? My body’s been through the wringer.”

“You should take better care of your body, Dean. We only get the one.”

“Yeah, we do…” Dean sighs, shifting. Too aware of Adam’s touch. Counting the differences between his expectations and the reality. They’re softer than what he expected a man’s hands should feel like. And gentler. These motions were more tender than Dean was used to, especially from a stranger. Part of him wants this over with, while a stronger, quieter part begs for more. He shifts, squirming. “Hey, what’s this you’re rubbing me with?”

“Oh, the oil?” Adam laughs, pinching his sides, “I had it specially delivered from some small town I last visited years ago, in Morocco. When it was all the rage, kids fleeing for the East in search of enlightenment. This herbalist was teaching in the streets…”

Dean tunes Adam out like he did the music, drowning his voice in the waves of his mind. Lets it sink deep below while Dean splashes around shallower waters. Like how this trip was planned.

After Chuck, after the Empty – after their last cosmic showdown, the Winchesters faced a new challenge. An ordinary day. It’s been years since Dean could wake without worrying he forgot something. Walk and _not_ look over his shoulder, at where he imagined someone with vengeance in their eyes and death in his future. Greet his family and not doubt that he will see them later.

It’s everything Dean wanted. Except he couldn’t handle it.

Sitting at the breakfast table, his family discussing pointless, trivial affairs, Dean broke. Maybe because of Sam’s bright smile while talking about a road trip he planned with Eileen, or Jack’s list of shows he wanted to watch. Maybe it was when he caught Cas’s gaze, his foot nudging at Dean’s, with a well of emotions Dean hadn’t deserved. Similar to that horrid night, although less sadness darkening his expression. Less blood staining his hands. Dean flashed between those two images and stood, hitting his knee on the table. Left with a meager and suspicious excuse.

Somehow, an endless cycle of near-death experiences made things simpler. Being trapped in a never-ending story meant exactly that. They would live forever. Exist in the unknown, remain unchanged.

Now that freedom is truly his, what will he do? How will he end? Will he become someone he doesn’t like? Will people he thought would stay forever slip out of his grasp? Does he go first and leave so many people behind?

He couldn’t sleep those next few nights. Cas caught on after his third bout with insomnia, bags heavy under his eyes. Looked across the canyon from his side of the bed, arms curled tight around himself. Chained there. “What’s wrong, Dean?” His fingers twitched in aborted need. Another easy piece that proved more difficult to fit into place. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Dean stared at Cas. Saw the streaks of grey that tickled his hairline, and little crusts around his eyes from sleep. Reminders of how fast things can change, and what little they have left in the tank. If Cas were an angel, he thought, they’d have more time. Can stay alive through his grace, healing even the littlest signs of age. Like Serafina did with Adam.

It slipped out like a leak, and then poured free. Inch given; mile taken. Frantically repeating how he met the First Man who loved an angel, and they lived normal lives in Santa Fe, and they seemed weird but in love, and –

“Okay,” Cas said, “we’ll go visit them.”

“Dean,” Adam whispers. Dean creaks an eye open from below the surface. “Where were you just now?”

His heart lurches. “Can’t really go anywhere, now can I?”

“Only in the physical sense,” he tells Dean, “your body can be here, but _you_ can also be a million miles away.” Adam kneads _harder_ on his back, forcing a grunt through Dean’s clenched teeth as he poked a sore muscle. “What’s more important that you’ve allowed your mind to wander far from the present?” He stops massaging, bending. Meets Dean’s squinted gaze. “Would you rather not be here?”

“What did I ever do to give _that_ impression?”

Adam doesn’t flinch from Dean’s bite, smirking at him. Followed by an airy laugh that sounds nicer than it should. “Y’know, my hands can only do so much,” he continues, standing. Clawing at Dean with blunt nails, repetitively raking patterns like he were a rock garden. “Massages are a give and take. I can only leech away what you’re willing to part with. And there’s a _mountain_ of stress buried here you’re still holding onto.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean growls. Closing his eyes hard enough white, hot stars burst from behind his lids. “Maybe you’re a shitty masseuse?”

“Nah, I’ve been doing this since Alexander the Great was in toga diapers. Can’t be that.”

“Just because you’re old doesn’t mean you’re any good.”

“That’s true.” Adam pinches Dean’s lower back, at the dip right where his ass curves from beneath the towel. Electricity jolts along his nerves, up his spine, and makes Dean bite his lip. “Then let’s say my _intuition_ is sounding the alarm you’re blocked.”

Dean snorts, “Then give me some Pepto and we’ll call it a day.” Another pinch. This time his knee jerks, foot jumping into the air. “Can you quit it?”

“When you start taking _this_ seriously.”

“Sorry,” he says, each syllable drenched in sarcasm. “I didn’t think your types took _anything_ seriously.”

Adam places his hand on Dean’s neck. Touch shocks him enough he lifts his head, finding the other’s stern expression. “If not for me,” he says, “then Castiel.”

He still feels Adam on his neck, and the second hand hangs at his side, shiny. Yet there must be a third. Because how else can Dean explain the pain in his side as anything other than a stab wound. Knife stuck there, cruelly twisted, cutting his insides further. Dean subtly nods, going slack. Adam guides his head back to its resting spot. Resumes petting him with much more severity. Each stroke like a match scraping against a striking surface, sparking but never lighting.

“Do you feel my hands, Dean?”

“Am I supposed to feel anything _else_?” Dean grouses, “Because if this is you coming onto me…”

Adam squeezes Dean’s ass over the towel, Dean yelping. “Why I’ll admit you’re a beauty, my heart is spoken for. As is yours.”

Dean waits as the coiled heat in his stomach unravels, breathing raggedly all the while. “Yeah,” he says, “I can feel your hands.”

“Good,” Adam says, “and how do my hands on your body feel?”

“Um… good? I guess? Like any other massage.”

“You’ve gotten other massages before?”

“When I could, I guess.”

“And your masseuses,” Adam asks, coating more of the oil along his shoulders, “were any of them _men_.”

_No_. “Why does that matter?”

“I’m just asking,” Adam says, “guessing, actually, if your hesitation during this process has something to do with my gender expression.” He rubs at his biceps, fondling them. “So I’ll ask again – have you ever been massaged by a man.”

He’s fought with countless men. Punches and kicks and elbows at throats acceptable foreplay. Love bites that stung far too long, bled too much. Shook hands with many hunters while crossing America during his early years where he was figuring himself out. Their intimidating grip thrilling Dean more than they should while near his father. John’s idea of what makes a man still living in his mind, a shadow that won’t disappear no matter how many curtains he draws or lights he turns on. Persistent.

Sometimes Cas’s hand lingered, back when their relationship was new. Finding its footing despite Chuck’s story. He blamed it on his angel’s inexperience with humanity. But the more he stayed on Earth, the longer they lasted. More significant. A game of chicken, each daring the other to drop first.

That’s the most intimate he’s ever been with another man.

It’s been too long since he and Cas touched like that. Circling, never committing. Losing before the game starts.

“I…” Adam’s touch feels different, headier. Matchhead catching, flame bursting atop it. He sighs, “I’ve never been massaged by a man.”

Adam hums, “You’ve never had the opportunity?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve had lots of opportunities,” Dean tells him, “I just… never took them.” He shrugs as best he can. Sighing when Adam brushes one of his love handles, scratching it. Warm delight making Dean’s toes curl. “It wasn’t something a guy like me was supposed to do.”

“Supposed to,” Adam parrots, “someone else was making these decisions for you?”

Bristling, Dean shifts as if to raise his head again. Adam shoves at Dean, keeping him there. Adds an ounce of pressure that should stoke his anger. However, Dean responds with no retaliation. Stills, and when Adam removes his hand, continues talking. “I made these decisions,” Dean tells Adam, “I… there were a lot of expectations, being me. People I couldn’t disappoint. If they knew I went to get… massages, by _men_ … things might not have been the same.”

“Even if it hurt _denying_ this part of yourself?” he asks, “Suffocating it because other people had _opinions_ on how you should live your life?”

Dean scowls despite how dedicated Adam works at kneading the skin above his tailbone. “You wouldn’t understand, okay. Being the first person gives you leeway, make your own rules. I was born into a certain role – there was an image I had to fit. If I wanted to survive and I… and it got easy, over time. I wasn’t hurting anyone –“

“You were hurting yourself.”

“I’m used to it.”

Adam reacts violently, nicking Dean’s hip hard enough he expects blood. But his thumb soothes the spot, caresses it far more lovingly than Dean thinks is appropriate. He doesn’t voice his concerns. Busy thinking about the sudden callouses he feels on Adam’s thumb.

“That’s a dangerous point of view to have, Dean,” Adam warns, drawing him from the off-ramp. “How can you speak so carelessly about yourself like that?”

“I… I – uh…” Dean had a response. A common one he trotted out whenever a question like this appeared. Now, he finds the stable empty. He has nothing. “I…”

“You’ve been given a wonderful gift, Dean. The gift called life. Gone are the oppressive forces steering your judgement. Controlling how you grow.” Adam’s voice rises, passion seeping into his skin. Mixing with the oils, providing a euphoric numbness. “Now is when you should slash through those bindings and grow into the person you were always meant to be!”

“What if I…”

“Hmm?” Adam stops massaging him. The music ended at some point, leaving only silence. “What if you what?”

Dean slowly rises from the face hole, Adam not fighting him this time. Leans on his elbows, staring at the floor. At the small droplet that splattered there. “What if I don’t like that person?” he mutters, “What if I look in the mirror one morning and I don’t… don’t recognize that it’s my reflection. What if I become someone so wholly different now that I… now that I _can_ grow, and change, that I lose parts of myself. Lose my family, because they don’t like who I’ve become?”

Adam’s hand rests on his shoulder, fingers curling over a spot that doesn’t belong to him. When other people touched it, his skin crawled. Itched like fire ants crawled and bit. It’s the opposite feeling, with Adam’s hand. As if Dean’s soul breached through the shadows and filled him with so much light, he could overpower the sun. But only one other person has ever made him feel like that…

“If your family truly loves you, Dean,” Adam says, stepping into view. Guides Dean’s gaze from his feet towards his face using both hands. Smiling, “Then they love your most core, basic parts of yourself. And those, I know, will stick with you as you journey into a new era of self-exploration. Just as they will. You shouldn’t be afraid of change. It is the most powerful force in existence. Change cannot be stopped, cannot be controlled… how we choose to respond to it, however, is where humanity finds its freedom.” He lets go, drifting backwards into Serafina’s waiting arms.

There’s still a hand on his shoulder.

Dean turns. Instead of a thin, linen shirt, there’s a starched white button-down. Blue tie where he expected a scarf and chunky necklace. Dark hair with touches of gray, and blue eyes rimmed red with tears. “Cas…”

“Dean…” he says, squeezing his shoulder, “I love you. I… I won’t ever leave you.”

“How can you promise that, Cas?” he asks, “How do you _know_ that? We’ve… what if Chuck was the only thing keeping us together? What do we do now that he’s _gone_?”

“We _live_ Dean… day by day.” Cas kneels, pressing a thumb against his chin. “You’re right, I can’t be certain about the future. None of us can, not anymore. But, before Chuck, all I saw was bleakness. Now that he’s gone… after every hardship we’ve been through, the clouds have parted. It finally looks bright. And we could have a thousand more days or one more day, but in this moment Dean I want to experience _everything_ with you.” He kisses him, breathing that promise into his body. Words mingling with his heart and soul. “My first, and most important act of rebellion was loving you. In these few years we’ve known each other I’ve lived more than I ever have. _I’ve_ grown, not because of Chuck or despite of Chuck… but on my own terms. And you’re still here, with me.”

“Cas I…” Dean knocks their foreheads together, “You’re someone I never expected entering my life… and if you left, I don’t know if I can go back to living without you. Every time you were taken from me I… part of me died. A part that never came back, even though you did. When the Empty took you, I thought that was it. If I lost you one more time… I fought so hard for this – to live by _my_ terms that I… I don’t want to lose it. Lose _you_.”

“Then don’t act like you already have,” Cas tells him. “Let me in. Let Sam and Jack… we’re all figuring this out together. Shoulder your burdens with us and we will do the same to you. That way we can _enjoy_ our time together. And when one of us goes, the other will always have the memories of what we’ve _won_ to remind us how the fight – how _life_ was worth it.”

Dean nods, dropping another kiss against Cas’s lips. Rises with Cas, uncaring that the towel fell. He already felt more exposed from this simple massage. Modesty seemed a… a moot point. Cas slips between Dean’s legs, wrapping him in a hug. Dean returns it.

Then he looks at their voyeurs, watching from the sidelines. “Was this what you had planned all along?”

“Before you came here,” Adam says, “I had a vision.”

“…Right.”

“And in that vision,” Serafina adds, swaying with Adam. Fingers threaded through his curls, petting him, while his oil-covered hands stained her patchwork skirt. “He saw you two sticking around for a few more days.”

Dean arches a brow, huffing, “We do?”

“Oh yes,” she says, “you’ve only just begun to heal, the both of you. It’s a process – like growth – that never really ends.” Serafina’s gaze darts from him to Cas, and back again. “Plus, if you stay, we can introduce you to some new things. Offer some wisdom from our many lifetimes on Earth that may prove… _beneficial_.”

Dean and Cas share a silent conversation. He grins from that, knowing he can tilt his head or flutter his lashes and be understood completely. “Okay,” Dean answers, “it’s not like there’s anything else we _need_ to be doing.”

“Perfect!” She claps, “Oh I’ll – I’ll go put some tea on, and Adam can show you to our meditation room. We can spend the rest of the evening just _sharing_ , maybe even fall asleep under the stars. In all of America, Adam and I’ve found they don’t _shine_ quite like they do here.”

Dean leans his head on Cas’s shoulder, listening as Serafina rambles about possible plans. Adam interjecting with his own ideas every now and then. Watching them, a strange feeling flutters inside his chest.

He isn’t sure what to expect from hanging out at their commune or drinking their Kool-Aid. But, for the first time since they’ve closed the book on Chuck’s story… he’s _excited_.


	2. New Experiences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas return from their little vacation in Santa Fe. Sam expected some changes, but not...
> 
> this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a little button at the end of the first chapter, but that ended so beautifully, and this would've been too long. So I made it its own!
> 
> Enjoy!

Sam knew Dean struggled after Chuck’s defeat. Even with Cas back in a more _permanent_ capacity, shadows still clung to his brother’s expression. He couldn’t tell, but there were moments when a fog drifted across his gaze. Cas would look at Sam, and vice versa. Shared concern flitting across the space.

When Dean mentioned that he and Cas were leaving, visiting the First Man and his angel lover, Sam supported the decision. Getting him out of the Bunker, even for a short while, might aid in Dean’s recovery. He thought so, as did Cas. Both sharing over coffee early in the morning that this might be some needed change. A good trip can do wonders for Dean’s mood.

So, after Sam received a text late in the evening from Dean about how he and Cas were staying longer than they planned, he knew it worked. Then, as Cas sent him a thumbs-up emoji in reply to his question about Dean’s mental well-being, the bubble of worry lodged in his chest burst. He relaxed, called Eileen and hunted ghosts two states over.

He returned two hours before they did. Settled down with a sandwich in the kitchen, interrupted by his phone chiming with a text from Dean. _Home_.

Sam met Jack on the way there, “You on your way to the garage?”

“Yes, I…” He flustered, glancing away, “I missed him.”

He ruffled Jack’s hair, pulling him into a loose hug. “So did I.” They continued forward, happiness making him light-headed.

Except now, seeing his brother, he doesn’t know how to feel.

“Sammy!” Dean draws him into a hug far easier than he’s ever had in their lives. Breaking too suddenly, Sam almost stumbling from the loss of contact. “Looking good, man. I can’t believe it’s only been a few days!”

“Me – uh… me either.”

Dean _certainly_ changed. The ever-present storm clouds disappeared, leaving his brother with a sunnier disposition. His wardrobe was different, too. Looser fitting, softer fabrics in bright colors. He wore a certain sandal Sam remembers hearing Dean label ‘the most basic hippie accessory’. What disturbed him most, however, was his hair.

“You uh…” Sam tugs on his own locks, “trying something new?”

“What?” Dean touches his bangs, as if remembering they were there. Like having hair brushed aside, flopping over his ears and curling at the nape of his neck were _common_. “Oh, yeah… I figured I might see how I look with longer hair,” he tells Sam, “just to try.”

“To… try?”

“Yeah I mean,” he rolls his eyes, snorting. “It’s gotten scraggly in the past, but I never let it get too… _wild_. Thought I might give it a shake, see what all the fuss is about. And, hey, if I don’t like it, I can just cut it right? It’s only hair.”

_Only hair_. “I guess.” Sam’s mouth thins, inspecting his brother very carefully for any hex bags or weird markings. “How’d you get it that length so quickly?”

“I may have asked Serafina to give me a jumpstart while we were there,” he admits. “Not too much though, I want to see for myself, sit with it. Decide which length I like it at.” His eyes glow, calm expression breaking into something more joyful. “Dude, I almost forgot – Cas! Hey, Cas!”

Cas and Jack turn from their conversation, giving Sam a glimpse of his friend. It wasn’t only Dean. Cas wore a baggy, multi-colored hoodie paired with distressed shorts. Their duffels in both his hands. “Yes, Dean?”

“Give ‘em what we brought over for them!”

“Right!” Cas places the bags down, opening one to dig inside. In a beat, he presents Jack with a stone. “This is Green Aventurine,” he explains, “it’s for good luck, not that you need it. But we hope it reminds you that we’re always here for you, wishing for your success.”

Jack accepts the gift, smiling at it. “I… I love it,” he says, “thank you Cas… Dean.”

“And for Sam,” Cas passes another stone down. Dean taking it, holding the purple gem.

“Amethyst,” Dean says, shrugging, “Kinda basic but… when Adam was explaining what they all meant, this one reminded me the most of you.”

Sam stares at his brother, then slowly shifts to his gift. Wraps his fingers around it, clutching it tight in his hand. Heavy… but comfortable. Educated in the power of gemstones from his foray into witchcraft, Sam doesn’t need a lesson. “I…” he clears his throat, “thank you.”

“No, thank _you_ Sam,” Dean drags him into another hug. This one less awkward than the first, Sam anticipating it. Mirrors his actions, returning the gesture. “For always being by my side, and inspiring me to find a better choice. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“I wouldn’t be here without _you_ either…”

Dean claps him on the back, easing into Cas’s space. Lifts his duffel, twining the fingers on Cas’s free hand with his. Drops a small kiss on the seam of the other man’s lips – another rarity. He told Sam about their final moments in that closed room, the Empty closing in on them. Confessions of love ripped from their beings in the seconds where they were still together. Then saw those repeated declarations of love as Cas returned.

This… Dean never so openly showed affection with Cas since that day. He prepared for the change in their relationship, expecting it even. But though nothing was left unsaid, and they shared a room, Dean and Cas never felt farther apart.

That’s changed, too.

“There’s so much we want to tell you,” Dean starts, “about Santa Fe – Adam and Serafina… honestly, next time we visit you guys should come with, but I am _beat_. Need me some sleep.” Dean loops behind Cas, grabbing at his waist. Duffel slamming into his legs and making him laugh. Sam and Jack giggling as well. “Although who knows if we’ll get any _celebrating_ our _union_.”

Sam’s expression rapidly shifts. From happiness, to confusion, then understanding. Lands on shock once Dean’s words click. “Union?” he asks, “What union?”

“Ours.” Cas flashes their joined hands, showing off two similar bands on their middle fingers. “We got married.”

That’s… a _big_ change. “When?”

“When, uh…” Dean and Cas bend their heads together, “It was definitely sometime during that hike, right? Because that’s when Serafina mentioned she was ordained. I just can’t remember if it was before or after we skinny-dipped in their secret spring?”

“It was definitely before,” Cas says, “I remember you mentioning that the only thing you’d keep on was your ring.”

“Oh, yeah…”

Sam’s jaw hangs, from the information and how casually they discussed it in front of them. “You went skinny dipping?”

“And did a whole bunch of other things,” Dean affirms, nodding. He rolls out of the embrace, still holding Cas’s hands. “But like we said, we can talk about this later. Night Sam… Jack!”

It’s strange, seeing Dean carefree in this way. There were no traces of self-destruction or childishness. Instead, it was a more mature expression. Of being at peace. Like all the warring shards of Dean lay their arms down and united towards a common goal. One Sam can get behind, even if he needs time getting used to Dean’s new quirks.

“He looks happy,” Jack observes, Dean and Cas disappearing behind the hallway’s bend.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, “He finally is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that that's settled - let me know what you thought 😁 Drop a kudos & a comment down below!!!

**Author's Note:**

> This is much different than what I originally planned. First, I meant to write this last week as crack between Adam x Dean. But then I WATCHED the episode and... things change.
> 
> And then writing this... anyway, carry on to part 2 of this!


End file.
